Remove the black veil that hides you from the world. Reality bites at your flesh like a remorseless hound. A lattice work of repressed emotions and hidden trauma smolders with impotent rage. Declawed and neutered by one another. Servile and scraping, begging to be bound, praying for punishment. A blind wriggling mass of bodies, devouring its host.

“If you want a picture of the future, imagine a boot stamping on a human face—forever.” G.O.

Concrete Mascara return with a new album of moldering resentment, damaged electronics and strangled declarations of disease. Out now on Antipatik Records, available here.

“Now he became aware of an insidious, seeping, cooling-off which at some earlier and unremembered time had begun to explore him – investigating him as well as the world around him. It reminded him of their final minutes on Luna. The chill debased the surfaces of objects; it warped, expanded, showed itself as bulb-like swelling that sighed audibly and popped. Into the manifold open wounds the cold drifted, all the way down into the heart of things, the core which made them live. What he saw now seemed to be a desert of ice from which stark boulders jutted. A wind spewed across the plain which reality had become; the wind congealed into deeper ice, and the boulders disappeared for the most part. And darkness presented itself off the edges of his vision; he caught only a meager glimpse.” PKD

born from nothing, going nowhere
in the ditch where they found you
on the slab where nothing grows
at the bottom where you belong
isolation urge triggered by contempt
annihilation of the self
your return to nothing
your failed escape from nothing
fifty minutes of fluid agony, sore throat, austere electronics
surgical electric pulses
impotent internal struggle